


Forget Me Not

by readingbylamplight



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: 1920s, 1930s, 1940s, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Minor Character Death, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pre-Captain America: The First Avenger, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Steve locking his idiot friends in a closet in a desperate attempt to get them together
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-07
Updated: 2018-08-31
Packaged: 2019-06-06 23:01:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15205394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/readingbylamplight/pseuds/readingbylamplight
Summary: The streetcar ride back to Brooklyn was silent until they got off at their stop and Marisa reached over, catching Bucky’s shirtsleeve with her fingers.“Can I talk to you before you head home?”“Of course,” He nodded, eyes weary before he moved to offer his hand to help her down off the streetcar.She took it, and didn’t want to let go when her feet finally touched the sidewalk.“I’m sorry,” She said, moments later when Steve had gone up into the apartment building, “Bucky, I’m so sorry for everything.”He didn’t look at her for a long moment and her vision blurred with tears.“Your apology is accepted,” He murmured, and she felt her heart break all over again as he turned, pressed a kiss to her forehead, and walked away.





	1. Chapter 1

“That right there is the big dipper.”

 

On Montague Street there were three kids who fate had a lot in store for.

 

A girl, Marisa, and two boys, Bucky and Steve, who had fallen into friendship on a schoolyard, not immediately, but after a fight that they would talk about years from now. A tugged braid and mistaken identity had led to a black eye for Bucky and a broken hand for Steve, but Marisa had put sense back into their six and seven-year-old brains. They had been inseparable ever since.

 

 _“How can you separate three parts of the same whole?”_ Marisa’s nonna, Agnesca remarked to her husband, Lucio, when they would find the children curled up on the fire escape atop a mattress in the summertime, _“You can’t, they'll break.”_

 

“And that’s the north star, right?”

 

Sarah Rogers got home late most nights, so Steve stayed with Marisa. And where they were, Bucky would inevitably be. It was a fact, written in unspoken and unpublished books as true and undisputed, and his mother, Winifred, doubted it would ever change.

 

“Right.”

 

Marisa turned her head on Bucky’s shoulder to look at his face, his arm outstretched to point something out; moonlight bouncing off his cheekbones and the tip of his nose.

 

“As long as you can find the North Star, you'll always be able to find your way home.”

 

* * *

 

**_December 2nd, 1921_ **

_The sun rose over Erchie and illuminated the smoking remains of a home._

_The child sank to her knees atop the grassy cliff, dark curls flying in the freezing air and angry waves rolling across the sea._

_The woman cried out behind her, something caught between a cry to God and a hopeless sob, and fell to her knees next to the child._

_The child, who was only alive by the hand of fate, who had not been the house that night; tucked away in her grandparents’ home beneath a warm quilt as the fire burned through the night unheard and unseen._

_The man soon followed and cried out for his son again and again; but the wind carried it away._

 

**_August 27th, 1922_ **

_“Do you hear the things I hear, Lucio? Nothing good ever comes from a man who weaves his words that way.”_

_The candle that had lit their late dinner was blown out, the child did not like fire._

 

**_August 28th, 1922_ **

_“It costs thirty American dollars a ticket for the boat ride alone.”_

_The child slept, or so they thought. She didn't sleep much anymore._

_“She needs a place to grow with no ghosts and a better life than this.”_

 

**_April 3rd, 1924_ **

_“Stay close to me, Marisa.”_

_The ship rocked as they boarded it, their few possessions tucked into two footlockers. The journey would be long and tiring, but a new life awaited at the end of it._

 

**_May 8th, 1924_ **

_The boy was small, Agnesca would even dare to say frail, but his eyes were blue and alive._

_His mother was a nurse, a soldier’s wife whose husband had passed on with many others; a father never meeting his son._

 

* * *

 

**_October 9th, 1928_ **

As winter approached the air cooled, falling down into the far more comfortable sixties and seventies.

Now that Bucky was eleven, almost twelve, his mother had allowed him to pick a sport and he had chosen to learn wrestling at the YMCA a dozen or so blocks away. He’d leave from school and walk the handful of blocks and Marisa and Steve would meet him halfway on the way home to catch up.

Over the years Bucky had developed what he would call a superpower, a strong gut feeling of whether his best friends were being idiots or not, and today?

 

Today they most definitely were.

 

By the time he reached the alley the fight was coming to a close. Steve’s nose was at an odd angle and bleeding heavily while the other guy looked surprisingly worse with a set of scarlet nail scratches down his cheek and a rather vicious-looking bite on his arm. Seeing that he was now truly outnumbered the boy paled, backing away from Marisa who was slumped against the wall holding her arm and running down the other end of the alley.

Bucky reached over to Steve, who was on the ground wheezing heavily with one hand over his ribs, and helped him up before moving over to Marisa.

 

“Bucky,” She whimpered, tears on her cheeks. “Bucky it hurts.”

 

One glance at her arm made him queasy and he could tell instantly it was broken.

 

“Let's go to your Nonna and ask her what to do, c’mon.”

 

Marisa gave a little sob at that, nodding and moving forward to slip under his arm, “It hurts.”

 

“I bet,” He pushed down his own panic and focused on the labored wheezes coming from Steve, “Your ribs?”

 

The boy nodded on Marisa’s other side, “He got a kick or two in before ‘Risa got him.”

 

“Nice job Mar, what’d he do?”

 

“Harassed me for being Italian,” She snapped tearily, the accent that had faded slightly over the last couple years coming back full force, “Told me to go back home with the rest of the Mafia.”

 

“Screw him and anyone else who thinks that.” His arm tightened slightly around her shoulders, “If he harasses you again you send him to me, okay?”

 

“I appreciate it but I’ll break both my arms _and_ my legs before I pass up a fight with him.”

 

“Mmhm,” Bucky hummed and they fell silent after that, rounding the corner and the apartment block coming into sight.

 

They climbed the stairs and pushed open the door, Marisa calling for Agnesca as they filed in. The woman appeared in the kitchen seconds later, Becca on her hip and eyes filled with worry. She immediately sat the two down in chairs and began fussing over them; passing Becca over to her brother so she could have both hands free.

Agnesca pressed her fingers lightly into Steve’s ribs, declaring them only bruised after a tense moment and ordering him to go lie down in the living room with a cloth for his nose.

 

“James,” She gently took Marisa’s wrist in hand, shushing her when she whimpered, “Go home and call Sarah, see what she wants us to do.”

 

He nodded and Agnesca took the baby back before he left.

 

The run to his house was short, only a couple streets up and over from Montague to Willow, and within a couple minutes he was using the key hanging around his neck to get in. Winifred Barnes was at work, a secretary for a office building, and her husband, George, would be at the bank till late this evening.

 

The dial tone rang out for a long moment before the operator asked him where he wanted to connect to.

 

“The Brooklyn Hospital, please,” He said, bouncing from one foot to the other in an attempt to dispel the anxiety running through his veins.

_“Brooklyn Hospital reception, how can I help you?”_

“Can I speak to Sarah Rogers? She’s a nurse there.”

_“Name and reason for call?”_

“Bucky Barnes and I’m calling about her son.”

 

 The receptionist hummed in acknowledgement before putting him on hold. It was only a minute, maybe two before a familiar voice filled the line.

 

_“What did he do this time?”_

“Bruised ribs and a broken nose, Mrs. Carabello’s taking care of him. Marisa might have a broken arm though.”

Sarah sighed, _“Bring her to the hospital and I’ll check it. Do you know which line to take?”_

“Court Street to DeKalb Avenue?”

_“That’s the one. And, Bucky?”_

“Yes?”

“ _Don’t let Steve set foot in this hospital. He’s stubborn but I won’t allow it. Make sure he stays home.”_

“Yes ma’am.”

 

The line went dead and he replaced the phone in the cradle before heading out again.

 

“Sarah wants me to bring her to the hospital.”

 

Agnesca nodded, shifting the now sleeping toddler on her hip, “Tell Sarah I’ll make her dinner tonight in payment.” 

She reached over into the bowl by the door and fished out enough coins for the streetcar fare, passing them to Bucky.

 

“Take care of her, James. Don’t break my trust in you.”

 

He nodded as Steve and Marisa came into the kitchen, the latter still holding her arm with puffy eyes, “Ready to go?”

“It’s just me and Marisa going, Steve.”

“No it’s not! I’m going with you.”

“Your Ma told me not to let you come near the hospital. Do you _want_ to get sick again?”

“No, but-”

“Your Mama has already made the choice, Steven,” Agnesca moved forward and patted his shoulder, “Respect that and go lie down.”

 

Frustration flashed over his features and he stomped away into the living room. Agnesca turned to her granddaughter.

 

“Ti amo tesoro mio,” She whispered, pressing a kiss to her forehead, _I love you my treasure._

“Ti amo anch'io.” _I love you too._

 

Marisa and Bucky turned to leave and the boy caught the older woman’s eyes once more before he shut the door behind him. They spoke a thousand words in a split second. _Take care of her, take care of yourself, be smart, be safe, I love you as if you were another grandchild of mine._

 

The walk to the streetcar station was silent except for quiet sniffles from Marisa and the distant booms of thunder from a summer shower. They boarded and moved to a pair empty seats, Marisa taking the window.

 

“Does it still hurt?”

She nodded, “Not as bad as earlier but yes.”

She leaned over, resting her head on his shoulder, “Wake me up when we get there?”

 

“Of course.”

 

Bucky could recall countless times such as this, the girl whose dark braid he had pulled all those years ago tucking herself up under his arm or resting her head on his shoulder. The height difference made it to where nothing seemed to change but the date on the calendar. How much longer would moments like these remain? How long before she started noticing others than the ones she had attached herself to from childhood?

The thought of those days put a feeling in his heart he didn’t like.

 Marisa’s thoughts seemed to follow the same road as she leaned against the one who always made her feel safe and cared for no matter what. It wasn’t his job to protect her, no, she would always insist that she could do that herself, but it was nice to have someone. She worried things would change, like Nonna had said to Nonno one morning last year when she hadn’t known their granddaughter was awake.

 

_“I curse the days when we have to tell them they can’t do this anymore.”_

 

Marisa knew she’d miss these days; sleeping on the fire escape tucked under Bucky’s arm, getting to leave with him or Steve without a chaperone, the three of them in their own world amongst the chaos of a world they didn't truly understand.

 

The streetcar jostled around a curve and their fingers tangled together on the seat between them.

 

For now they were okay.  


 


	2. Chapter 1.5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this portion was supposed to go into chapter 2 but now that im almost finished with it it seems really out of place. But I still want to post it, because I love nerd!bucky so so much, so im putting it here between the chapters. Chapter two is coming soon!

**_March 15th, 1930_ **

Bucky’s hands clutched to the newspaper with the reverence one would expect when holding the Holy Grail or something priceless.

 

“It’s a new planet,” He explained as they climbed out the apartment window,  “They  _ just _ discovered it. It’s tiny, and so far away I bet you can’t even see it without a telescope like the one in Arizona.”

 

He bolted up from where he was sitting a handful of minutes later and waved the paper around dramatically, “What if we can walk on it? Breathe on it?”

 

Marisa glanced up from her book where she sat in the corner of the fire escape and grinned at her companion, “What are you called if you do that, again?”

 

“An astronaut! There’s also aliens, which is what we would call life in space that didn’t come from here.”

 

“There’s no way that aliens are real, Buck. If they were, wouldn’t they have shown up by now?” 

 

“Maybe they just don’t want to see your ugly mug,  _ Steven _ .”

 

“Maybe they don’t want to see  _ your _ ugly mug either,  _ James _ .”

 

“If you two plan to start brawling let me know so I can put my bookmark in. I’d hate to lose my place because of you idiots.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come hang out on tumblr! thewritingasexual
> 
> Comments are my lifeblood, y'all, if you leave me one it helps me write the next chapter faster. Any comment is a good comment, even if its just a :) or a :(


	3. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic will contain character deaths. If there is a possiblity of you being triggered by this, the end notes of every chapter will contain whether or not a character died.

**_November 24th, 1932_ **

 

_“Lord, do not take him from us, I beg you.”_

 

The apartment was still, silent, and Death stood in the doorway watching.

  


**_November 16th, 1932_ **

 

_Is Steve sick again?_

 

Marisa glanced to her right, where Jackie had passed the note from, and nodded once she had met her eyes. She scribbled out a quick reply beneath the desk, keeping her eyes on the teacher as she passed it back.

 

_The usual cold, his ma wants him home until it goes away._

 

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jackie read the note and slip it into Simon’s waiting hands. Simon was her cousin, both of them the grandchildren of Polish immigrants, and the three generations of their family shared a large apartment in Cobble Hill; about a dozen blocks south of the Carabellos, Rogers, and Barnes families in Brooklyn Heights.

 

Another note found its way into her hands a couple minutes later, folded with ‘ _for Steve’_ scrawled on the side facing up.

 

Unfolding it, Marisa fought back a laugh unsuccessfully, turning it into a violent cough when the teacher looked her way.

 

It was Steve, an angry scowl on his face as he punched a faceless figure labeled “Sickness”, the figure flying back from him on the other half of the page with a large dent spanning its cheek from the hit.

 

“Thanks,” She mouthed to them, “He’ll love it.”

 

(and he did, choking on his laughter when she presented him with it later)

  


**_November 24th, 1932_ **

 

“I’m not leaving.”

 

Lucio could recall when Marisa’s father was this age. The two were eerily similar; matching in so many ways. Amber eyes that flashed with pride and determination, dark hair that grew in unruly, thick waves, and an undying loyalty and stubbornness.

 

But beneath all that was something else, a fear that she had buried for years, he could tell. This was more than the stubborn nature that ran in their blood, this was the young child that lingered beneath the years of growing that feared losing more of her loved ones. The one that had narrowly escaped death eleven years ago but who hadn't gotten to say goodbye.

 

“Do you fear to go home, _piccola_? To leave?”

 

The look in her eyes confirmed it, and her voice fell to a whisper after a long stretch of silence, “What if I leave him and he stops breathing in the night?”

 

Lucio glanced over and met Agnesca’s eyes. She nodded, “You may stay, as long as Sarah allows it.”

 

Marisa nodded, opening her mouth to thank her when she was cut off.

 

“And if I come back in the morning and find you asleep sitting up in the kitchen, we will be having words. Sleep where Sarah puts you.”

 

“Yes, ma’am.”

 

* * *

 

“Now you listen here.”

 

Steve’s hand was cold, his fingernails a shade of blue that was not from the soft chalk pastels in his art kit, but his heartbeat continued its slow beat beneath Bucky’s fingertips.

 

“You don’t get to die tonight, you hear me?”

 

He glanced over into the living room, checking that Marisa and Sarah were still asleep. He doubted that Sarah actually was, her shoulders too stiff where she lay on the sofa to be truly resting, but he also doubted she could hear him; so he continued.

 

“You’re my best friend, Stevie. And you’re hers too. If we lost you…”

 

He shook his head, roughly scrubbing at his eyes with his sleeve as he leaned back into the cabinet, “Just _stay_ , please, fight this thing. Don’t go.”

 

There wasn’t a response, not that he was expecting one. Steve had been sleeping most of the last couple days, his waking moments filled with drinking soup or water while Sarah rearranged the blankets and wiped his face with a cool cloth. By the time that was over, he’d be exhausted again.

 

Movement out of the corner of his eye made him turn, Marisa sneaking past Sarah with her blanket around her shoulders; tired-eyed and looking tiny beneath the quilt. Bucky lifted up his arm and she nestled into his side, humming her thanks as he brought the blanket back down around them.

 

“Can’t hear him breathing as easily over there.”

 

Bucky shook his head with a soft laugh, “Sure, that’s the only reason you came over here.”

 

“I was cold.”

 

“There it is.”

 

The room fell silent, its occupants focused in on the wheezing breaths that came and went. The clock on the mantle ticked by, one minute, another, a third, and Bucky spoke around the time it reached the forth; feeling Marisa fall heavier into his side than before.

 

“Go back to bed,” he nudged her, but she pulled the blanket up over her head to block him out, “You gotta go now, Risa.”

 

“Why? I’m warm and cozy here.”

 

“Because I’m scared that if your Nonna comes back and sees me this close to you she’s actually going to gut me with her favorite tomato knife this time.”

 

He pulled the blanket off her head, “I’m too young to die. Go to bed.”

 

Marisa shifted, moving to sit with her back to the cabinet next to him, laying a hand on where Bucky was still holding onto Steve’s own; aligning their fingers so they could both feel the weak beating of his heart beneath the skin of his wrist.

 

“She likes you. She _pretends_ that she doesn’t when in reality she’d rather it be you this close to me than any other boy.”

 

He looked down at her, “Even Steve?”

 

She snorted, turning to meet his eyes, “Even Steve. The stress of us always running off to fight someone would kill her.”

 

“You two would be impossible to keep up with, I can barely keep you out of trouble as is.”

 

“Maybe that’s just because you run just about as fast as an eighty-year-old man.”

 

“First of all, rude,” He looked back to Steve, “Second, I know you're trying to distract me so I won’t remind you to go to bed and it’s not working.”

 

She shrugged, “Fine, you win. I’m going.”

 

She rose with a mischievous smile and Bucky suddenly was very, very afraid of what was about to happen.

 

“You know, Nonna said that I wasn’t to fall asleep sitting up in the kitchen and since Ms. Sarah gave me my blankets and told me to pick a place to sleep she never told me _exactly_ where. That means I can do _this…_.”

 

Marisa dropped her quilt atop the pile on Steve’s bed before crawling in next to him, squeezing in the narrow edge on his other side and propping herself up on her elbow to look Bucky in the eye.

 

“I bet I can tell you exactly what she’ll say when she gets here in the morning. ‘ _Dio mi sta mettendo alla prova con questo bambino.’_ ”

  


**_November 25th, 1932_ **

 

_"Dio mi sta mettendo alla prova con questo bambino!"_

 

Marisa winked dramatically at Bucky as she was being dragged from the apartment, Agnesca yelling about how if they were late to school they would have words and _James Barnes go comb your hair for heaven’s sake you look like a stray dog!_

  


They barely made it to school on time, mostly because they had both fought to not go.

 

It had taken both Sarah and Agnesca to get them out the door, both kids begging to stay with Steve, but Sarah said that his breathing was a little stronger this morning; so they needed to go so he could rest.

 

Bucky had a bad feeling the second school let out, so he grabbed Marisa and they ran home at a full sprint; the door to the building cracking loudly against the wall as they pushed through it.

 

Agnesca caught them at the open front door, stopping them.

 

“Wait a moment.”

 

“Is he….” She trailed off, horrified, as sound trickled out of the apartment.

 

_“Áve María, grátia pléna, Dóminus técum. Benedícta tū in muliéribus, et benedíctus frúctus véntris túi, Iésus. Sáncta María, Máter Déi, óra pro nóbis peccatóribus, nunc et in hóra mórtis nóstrae. Ámen.”_

 

“No no no no no-” Marisa pushed against Agnesca’s hold, but the older woman would not release her.

 

“He isn’t gone,” Agnesca murmured, gently bringing up a hand to wipe away her tears when they girl had stilled, “He’s still with us.”

 

“Then why is the priest here?”

 

Agnesca reached out, gently pulling Bucky closer so she could speak quietly to both of them, “Sarah has decided to bring him to the hospital. Calling in a priest is something she chose to do for her heart’s sake and to give her hope.”

 

“Taking him to the hospital could kill him!”

 

“I can’t help him any more here,” Sarah appeared behind her in the doorway, guiding the priest out with murmurs of thanks, “This is what has to be done now, if he’s to have any chance of surviving.”

 

* * *

  
Goodbyes are hard.

Not knowing if you’ll see them again is harder.

 

* * *

 

“He’ll make it, I promise.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

 

* * *

 

To embrace someone home from a long journey is a good feeling. 

To embrace someone home from an uncertain one is better.  


 

**_December 4th, 1932_ **

 

“The doctors didn’t think he’d make it to ten.”

 

Winifred and Sarah watched as her son, weak but healing, sat with his best friends on the sofa; all giggling at something he was drawing in his new sketchbook.

 

“And yet he’s made it to fourteen. Doctors don’t know everything, it seems.”

 

**_December 26th, 1932_ **

 

But Death did not leave.

 

He lingered. He waited.

  


**_January 1st, 1933_ **

 

_“Happy new year!”_

  
  


**_January 17th, 1933_ **

 

“Have a good day at school, _il mio tesoro_.”

 

“I will, I love you! Bye!”

  


. . . . .

  


_Goodbyes are hard._

 

Death left the house that afternoon, but he did not leave empty-handed.

 

_Knowing you’ll never see them again is harder._

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a character death (Agnesca Carabello) at the end of the chapter, but it is not shown.
> 
> Come hang out on Tumblr! thewritingasexual
> 
> As always, comments are very appreciated. :)


	4. Chapter 3

 

**_June 6th, 1933_ **

 

_ He knew exactly what she had been doing, why else would he be hiding out in the shadows of the street corner at this hour? _

 

_ Right on time, the window slid open over the fire escape and she climbed out; hair tucked up beneath a hat, her small shoulders drowning in Bucky’s stolen shirt, and may Agnesca Carabello rest in peace not knowing that her granddaughter was wearing Steve’s pants and boots while climbing out her window in the middle of the night.  _

 

_ (A quiet voice in Bucky’s mind called out that she had probably stolen them as well when they were over at the apartment earlier. This was most likely true, as his button-up had gone missing following a dinner a couple weeks ago.) _

 

_ She descended to the sidewalk, glancing around quickly before setting off down the street.  _

 

**_June 7th, 1934_ **

 

It was a Thursday, it was raining, and it was her sixteenth birthday.

 

There was a quiet, private celebration between herself and Lucio over breakfast; whispered prayers for a healthy and lighthearted journey into her next year over their food and a gift of pocket money. 

 

She tried to return it, _ “Nonno,” _ she pleaded,  _ “We need this for the rent-” _

 

“There will be enough,” He stated, calm and confident in his words, “Trust me,  _ piccola _ .”

 

She walked to school with Steve and Bucky, huddled until a shared umbrella with tense silence between them. Things had changed in the last year, many things, and sometimes there were no words to be said.

After school they took the streetcar down to Cobble Hill, Bucky insisting on paying for the car fee since it was her birthday. Jackie and Simon’s family, the Penkalas, welcomed them, all of them crowding into the main floor of the apartment they shared as Jackie’s mother, Emilia, and Simon’s, Renata, as well as their  _ Babcia _ , who Marisa didn’t actually know the name of, shouted orders as they finished dinner. 

 

They had made her favorites, holishkes and chocolate babka for dessert, and she found herself happy for a moment; surrounded by the warmth of family and good food.

 

She rose with Emilia shortly after the blessing was said following the meal, and gathered up her plate before following the older woman to the sink.

 

“Thank you for having us over today,” Marisa said, handing her plate over and grabbing the drying-cloth from its hook, “You and your family have been so kind to myself and Nonno this past year and we truly appreciate it.”

 

Emilia turned, gently laying her hand on the girl’s shoulder, “You and Lucio are like family to us, and if it had been any of us that had passed, your Nonna, peace be upon her, would have done the same for our children.”

 

Silence fell between them for a long moment, and then Marisa spoke in a whisper that could barely be heard amongst the talking from the table and sounds pouring in from the open windows, “Ever since she left, it’s like a part of me left with her,” a pause, a shaky breath, “and I still don’t know how to deal with the emptiness that was left in its wake.”

 

“I know how that feels,” Emilia reached out with her free hand and took hold of Marisa’s own, “I felt the same way after my father passed when I was only a little older than you are.”

 

She took back her hand, turning to run water from the sink into a large pot, “Grief is like the ocean, Marisa, it comes and goes just as the waves do. The most important thing to learn is how to swim, lest you drown in it.”

 

“I don’t know  _ how. _ ”

 

“Talk to Bucky and Steve. I know you’ve been distant from them, especially Bucky, since last summer; and it can’t continue unless you  _ want _ to hurt all three of you even more. Tell them how you feel,  _ let them in again. _ ”

 

**_June 6th, 1933_ **

 

_ He followed for several blocks, and then around a corner into an alleyway. _ __  
_  
_ __ Where she was waiting for him, one hand pushing him to the brick wall as the other brought a knife to his neck.

 

_ “Bucky?” She staggered back, knife still in her hand, and he felt the air leave his lungs at the thought that he could have died right then and there if her fingers had slipped, “Bucky, what is wrong with you?!” _

 

_ “What’s wrong with me? The real question is what’s wrong with you?” _

 

_ “Bucky-” She started off with a warning tone, but he cut her off. _ __  
_  
_ __ “Marisa, no. You’re out walking around Brooklyn in the middle of the night for the third time this week, wearing stolen clothes and carrying a knife and you think it's not okay for me to ask you what’s going on?”

 

_ “It’s none of your business, James!” _

 

_ Okay, that hurt. _ __  
_  
_ __ “You’re wearing my shirt, which you stole from my home. That makes it my business.” He took a step forward and her fingers flexed around the knife, “and don’t call me James.”

 

_ “You’re not my mother, James, I’ll go where I wish.” _

 

_ “Yeah, back home where you’ll be safe and you can give me my shirt back.” _

_ “I’ll give it back to you in the morning. Go home Bucky.” _

_ “If you’re out here I’m out here, you know that. _

_ “I just want to be alone right now.” _

_ “Sometimes we don’t get exactly what we want, like how I want you to be at home and safe right now but I know you won’t go.” _

 

_ She walked past him, out of the alley, and rounded the corner in the opposite direction of home. _

 

_ “You could get killed out here, you know we don’t live in the best neighborhood.” _

_ “I’m fine, Bucky.” _

_ “Nothing about this is fine,” and this was a moment where he truly should have thought before he spoke, a moment that he would remember and regret for a long time, “What would your Nonna think of this?” _

 

_ Marisa whirled around on that, a new sort of rage alight in her eyes, and an angry flush flared up on her cheeks. _

 

_ “Don’t you dare talk about her, Barnes. Don’t you freaking dare.” _

 

_ He stood there, silent, waiting.  _

 

_ “She’s dead,” Marisa spat, “you don’t get to talk like you knew her or what she’d want.” _

 

_ She took a halting step backward, another, a third as her eyes filled with tears. _

 

_ “Stay away from me, I don’t want to see you right now.” _

 

_ He blinked, vision blurring with new tears for a moment, and when they cleared she was gone. _

 

**_June 7th, 1934_ **

 

Let them in again.

 

She could try that. It’d be difficult, especially after what happened, but she wanted to try.

 

The streetcar ride back to Brooklyn was silent until they got off at their stop and Marisa reached over, catching Bucky’s shirtsleeve with her fingers.

 

“Can I talk to you before you head home?”

“Of course,” He nodded, eyes weary before he moved to offer his hand to help her down off the streetcar.

 

She took it, and didn’t want to let go when her feet finally touched the sidewalk.

 

“I’m sorry,” She said, moments later when Steve had gone up into the apartment building, “Bucky, I’m so sorry for everything.”

 

He didn’t look at her for a long moment and her vision blurred with tears. 

 

“Your apology is accepted,” He murmured, and she felt her heart break all over again as he turned, pressed a kiss to her forehead, and walked away.

 

**_June 7th, 1933_ **

 

_ There had been feelings, many many feelings, but she pushed them down and away and refused to acknowledge them. _

 

_ She didn’t even know if her and Bucky were even friends anymore, after what happened. After what she said.  _

 

_ Why had she said that? How could she say that to someone she….. _

 

_ Nope, thinking the word is just as bad as saying it aloud.  _

 

_ She liked him, they were friends, they had history. A lot of history. All gone now, washed away with her anger, but it had been present once upon a time.  _

_ When she saw him again, that next morning, the walk to school side-by-side looming before them like a field full of landmines, there wasn’t anything to say. Everything was written on their faces, eyes refusing to meet. Steve hadn’t been told what had happened, but it was obvious that something was wrong. _

 

_ Once upon a time this walk wouldn’t have been so silent. _

 

_ But Marisa and Bucky Barnes weren’t a fairytale. _

 

_ They didn’t get a happy ending. _

 

**_July 1st, 1934_ **

 

Things hadn’t gone back to normal overnight, obviously, but they were definitely getting better.

 

They were friends with a relationship that was still rocky and unstable but slowly being repaired and strengthened. It helped her too. 

 

And then  _ it _ happened.

 

Marisa, Steve, and the Barnes kids had been sent to spend the day at Columbus Park and wait to be called back home once the youngest of the Barneses had made an appearance. 

 

They were summoned in the afternoon, shortly after the group of five had come back from lunch at the Automat on the corner of Pearl and Fulton. 

 

Mary-Anne Barnes was the third and now youngest girl of the family, five years younger than Charlie and almost seven years younger than Rebecca. And at only  just a couple hours old, she was causing trouble.

 

Bucky had been holding her, grinning down at her like she hung the moon, when a little voice in the back of Marisa’s mind whispered those traitorous words.

 

_ Oooh I could go for more of that. Preferably with some brown-eyed babies though. _

 

A moment passed.

 

_ Wait, what? _

 

Marisa could faintly hear herself congratulating Mr. and Mrs. Barnes before she turned to leave, still too locked away in her own revelation that  _ holy crap I have a thing for Bucky Barnes _ to notice that the subject of her thoughts had passed off the newborn and followed her out.

 

“You alright, Risa?”

 

She stopped, pulled from her thoughts, and turned back to him, “Of course.”

 

His eyebrows furrowed and he came down the steps from the door to stand in front of her, waiting for her to speak.

 

“I missed you,” She didn’t know why she said it, it just  _ happened _ , “All summer and fall and winter and spring I missed you.”

 

“I missed you too. Let’s do our best to try and not let it happen again.”   
  


He said the last bit with a joking air, but his eyes told a different story of hurt.

 

“You just wanted me to be safe, and I pushed you away. I was hurting and I only cared about my pain. And yet you still speak to me.”

“That’s what you do for the ones you care about, Marisa.”

 

Okay that stung, but she knew that she had it coming.

 

“I couldn't sleep,” and  _ wow _ , that was a change of topic and  _ why did she do that,  _ “In the apartment, I couldn’t sleep. Because they found her in the kitchen after she fell. That’s why I was outside.”

 

He watched her, not moving, waiting for her to say more.

 

“I thought that if I walked enough that I’d eventually be tired enough to sleep without thinking about it. It was reckless and stupid, I know.”

 

She winced, “and I shouldn’t have stolen from you. That was wrong and you deserve better.”

 

“We can’t change what happened,” He sighed, but his shoulders relaxed and she could tell he wasn’t angry, “but we can do our best to make sure nothing like that happens again.”   
  
Marisa nodded, and he continued, “If you ever need to talk, or to even just take a walk, no matter what time it is; I’m here for you.”

 

**_July 9th, 1934_ **

 

“You’re doing the thing again.”

 

“What thing?”

 

Steve rolled his eyes, “The fond tone every time you think about Bucky thing.”

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Steve.”

 

He sighed, flopping back down onto the lumpy sofa, “Couldn't you just  _ tell _ him you’re in love with him instead of pining for the next century?”

 

“ _ First of all,  _ I’m not in love with him-”   
“Well then I know you better than you know yourself because you are  _ definitely _ in love with our best friend.”

“ _ Second of all, Steve,  _ I’m waiting on him to make the first move. Don’t want to risk messing up our friendship even more than I already have.”

 

“This is my life now,” he muttered, and she sent him a glare, “Surrounded by the pining idiots.”

 

**_July 10th, 1934_ **

 

“Listen, Buck, you’ve gotta make a move one of these days.”

 

“Can’t risk it, I don’t know if she feels the same way.”

 

“So what are you going to do?”   
  
_ Please don’t say that you’re going to wait for her to make the first move please don’t say it- _ __  
__  
“I’m going to wait for her to make the first move.”

 

**_August 4th, 1934_ **

 

Steve had not anticipated that it would be so difficult to get Bucky and Marisa together.

 

He’d recruited Jackie and Simon and the three had worked tirelessly, locking the two in rooms, “forgetting” things and leaving them alone to wait, everything short of just breaking his promises of silence to both of them, but nothing seemed to work. 

 

So Steve had made a plan, a plan that might get him killed by Marisa but he hoped that before he died that they would get together so he would know his sacrifice was worth it. 

 

And the plan…..actually seemed to be working.

 

So maybe it wasn’t coincidence that Dolores from history class just  _ happened _ to be at Coney Island on this fine Saturday, but Marisa didn’t need to know that.    
  
(she also didn’t need to know that Steve had paid Dolores with a charcoal portrait that took almost a week to finish to ensure she showed up and went with the plan.)

 

_ “When you see Dot, you’re going to win her a prize,”  _ He had said earlier before they got on the train,  _ “Follow the plan, Buck. Get her a prize.” _

 

He had not considered the fact that Bucky was terrible at carnival games. That was something that probably should have been adjusted for. They’d already lost a whole dollar to The Plan and no prize had been won. 

 

Marisa was obviously angry, which did compensate for the loss of money, jealousy setting in as Dolores threw back her head with laughter and rested her hand on Bucky’s arm.

 

By the time Steve reached her her eyes were burning with rage as her hands clenched into fists and he leaned in closer to be heard above the crowd.

 

“You gonna stake your claim or not, Risa?”

 

Her head whipped towards him, eyes flashing with something he actually found quite terrifying and murderous, “You did this.”

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

 

This may have been a terrible mistake. He had joked about dying from Marisa’s wrath but now he took a moment to consider just how probable that was.

 

“All I’m saying,” He began, not moving, despite his whole being wanting to run and disappear into the crowd and get away from Marisa’s meticulously filed and painted nails that he had seen many times tear into the skin of disrespectful men’s faces, “Is that an opportunity has arisen to make a move. You don’t want him to marry Dot someday, do you?”

 

And then, he turned tail and ran for his life.

 

Steve kept a careful eye behind him as he made his way to a nearby food stand to buy a couple hotdogs (as well as funnel cake to serve as a peace offering to Marisa later) before rushing back as Marisa surged forward across the walkway. 

 

He made it there just in time to see her nails sink into the shoulder of Bucky’s shirt, her voice ringing out above the noise of the crowd.

 

“We’re leaving.”

 

Bucky looked startled for a moment before turning fully to her, offering her his arm politely as his said goodbye to Dot and wincing as her nails bit into his forearm. She guided him away, stopping for only a moment so Steve could catch up. 

 

“Who has the train money?” She snapped the fingers of her free hand, shoulders tense and face set with anger.

 

Steve was sure he had had it, but when he patted down his pockets came up with only a couple pennies,“Buck? Do you have it?”

 

“I thought you did,” Bucky raised an eyebrow at Steve, a tinge of panic in his blue eyes, “I spent my personal money on the games.”

 

“I spent my money on food.”

 

“Let me get this straight, we’re stuck here with no train money because Steve bought too much food and you decided to treat that girl to two dollars worth of carnival games?”

 

“Seems to be the case. Be right back.”

 

Steve stepped away, having seen a freezer truck being loaded a dozen or so yards away, “Sir, where does this truck go after here?”

 

“Up through Brooklyn. Why?”   
“Was wondering if my friends and I could ride in the back? We’re a bit short on train money and need to get home to Brooklyn.”

 

The old driver shrugged, “I don’t care as long as you bunch don’t steal out the back. We leave in five.”

 

When it was time to go they climbed into the back of the freezer truck, Marisa slapping away Bucky’s extended hand with a scowl and Steve realizing that The Plan might end with Their Deaths.

 

Steve ate his hotdogs, attempting to ignore the growing tension as Marisa levelled Bucky with what seemed to be a neverending glare and when Steve glanced over at Bucky, he was surprised to see him glaring back at her.

 

“You got anything to say, Marisa?” Bucky raised an eyebrow at her, leaning back against the wall.

“No. Do you?”

 

They were going to die. That much was certain.

 

“Maybe I should take Dot out dancing, I bet she’d love that.”

 

Marisa remained silent, glaring, and Steve started worrying a little less about his safety and a whole lot more about Bucky’s.

 

“I think I’m free next Saturday, I’ll catch her at school on Monday to ask her.”

 

Marisa was across the floor in the time it took to blink, walking as if she was off to murder someone and Bucky stood there, a smirk on his face as if he knew  _ exactly  _  what she was doing.

 

And maybe he did.

 

Her hand darted up, caught the collar of his shirt, and pulled  him down to her; their lips colliding and Bucky’s hands finding their way to her waist.   
  
“So I  _ shouldn’t  _ take Dot out dancing,” Bucky said after a moment, pulling away slightly.

 

“No you definitely shouldn’t.”

 

“Good to know.”

 

“ _ Holy cow _ I can’t believe that worked.”

 

Marisa turned her head to look at Steve, the glare back in full force, “You and I will be having words later about this.”

 

He panicked.

 

_ “Funnel cake?” _

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No character deaths, only mentions of Agnesca's in the last chapter.


End file.
